


Meet My Manservant

by Rachael_Rothman



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Boyfriends, Fluff, Harry isn't sick and he's dating Peter, Harry's manservant, M/M, Peter is confuddled, Peter is still Spiderman but it's not really mentioned, Road Trip!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachael_Rothman/pseuds/Rachael_Rothman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You still blow-dry your hair every morning?"</p>
<p>"Um, y'know one of my manservants holds the hairdryer but I work the comb okay, so... at least I'm not completely helpless!" </p>
<p>In which Peter finds out Harry wasn't kidding about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet My Manservant

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not sure if this has been done but I’m doing it anyway!!! Enjoy this lame piece of shit, haha.

Peter shifted uneasily as he felt the butler’s knowing glance on his person. Sly old Bernard probably already knew about the...  _relationship_ between Peter and Harry. The man had been around back when Harry had just turned 10 years old, when the previous butler had been fired, and he probably saw it coming. It still didn't make Peter feel any less relaxed, though.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr Parker.”

“Uh, hi, Bernard. Is, um, Harry ready to go?” The couple had planned a weekend at New Jersey, Atlantic City, where hopefully nobody would recognise them since they would be out of NYC's paparazzi range. 

Peter had packed shades and headgear though, just in case. The chances of Harry putting on a cheap imitation Chrome Hearts beanie was one to a million though. 

“Master Harry is currently in the dressing room. He has requested that I escort you in on the slim chance that you would arrive early.” 

Peter chuckled nervously, hauling his (small) luggage up the front steps and handed it to a maid, who wheeled it away to the side next to Harry’s (large) three suitcases. He followed the butler up the marble stairs and down the carpeted hall, blankly staring at the expensive antiques and paintings that neither he or Harry really cared for. 

They arrived outside Harry’s room, and the butler knocked twice, alerting his master of their presence. There was a mechanical whirring sound coming from inside the room. It sounded like a blowdryer. 

“Mr Parker is here to see you, sir.” 

“Alright, come in, Pete.” Harry called, the hint of a smirk in his tone.

Bernard gently pulled on the brass doorknob with a gloved hand and stepped aside for Peter to enter. Relieved to be out of the butler’s formal aura, he quickly stepped into the room and was about to go wrap Harry in his arms and shower him with kisses when—

“Oh, how _cute_ , such a good catch this time, Harry!” 

A flamboyant-looking man with a floral-print button-up top and brown dress pants gushed, his permed blonde hair bouncing with as much enthusiasm as he. He was slightly tanned with sharp grey eyes, but nowhere near as piercing as Harry’s own, and nowhere near as beautiful, Peter noted. He also had a rather pronounced French accent.

“Shut _up_ , Paul. And finish up quickly, we’ve got a tight schedule.” 

“ _Oui, oui_ ,” Paul laughed, batting away Harry’s fingers from fondling his hair. “ _Stop_! Unless you want to get your fingers burned!” 

“Whatever,” Harry grumbled, as Paul continued to comb and style his hair flat onto his forehead with the hairdryer. After three combs down, the Frenchman switched off the hairdryer and pulled up a dangerous looking clamping tool with an red-light glowing ominously on one side. A hair-straightener, from the looks of it. 

“Just sit down, Pete. We’ll be done in a minute.” Harry said, giving his boyfriend an amused glance. Peter was dumbstruck, his eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. “Hello? Pete, are you there?” The Osborn mockingly wriggled his fingers at Peter’s still figure. 

“… Oh my _god_ , Harry. You weren’t kidding?”

At this, Harry looked genuinely puzzled. 

“Kidding? About what?” He asked, wrinkling his nose as Paul clamped down on his roots and _yanked_ slowly forwards to the ends of his fringe. Peter felt ill seeing this sick form of hair-torture happen. There was _smoke_ emanating from Harry’s beautiful brown locks. 

“... N-Nevermind.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow and was about to question Peter further when Paul set down the straightener and misted the CEO with Tony & Guy hairspray. 

“Fuck, you _moron_! I said a _little_ hairspray, are you trying to _gas_ me?!” Harry barked, disgruntled as he swatted at the air around him. Paul tutted and squeezed a bit of styling gel onto his palms, pinching the fringe and giving it a very natural, ‘wind-swept’ look. 

“ _Mon Dieu!_ So young, and you already nag like an old woman.” 

“ _What_?!”

“Nothing, nothing,” Paul huffed, patting Harry’s shoulders as if saying _we’re done here_ , and pulled out the chair as Harry stood. The Osborn clicked his tongue as he eyed his reflection in the mirror. 

“... Satisfactory. You may collect your check from Bernard on your way out. There’s food in the dining hall if you’re hungry.” Harry commented, grabbing his phone from the dressing table and scrolling through his messages. Probably Felicia reminding him not to silent his phone in-case there was anything important she needed to relay to him. 

Peter was just relieved this weird experience was over. Seeing Harry getting his hair done by Paul had made him feel completely out of place. He self-consciously run a hand through his own hair, windswept and nest-like, as usual. Maybe he should get a haircut? How long has it been since he'd last cut his hair? Two months?

“ _Merci_ , _mon prince_ ,” And to add on to Peter’s discomfort — and utter _BEWILDERMENT_ — Paul leaned over and _kissed_ Harry on the lips.

That's right. 

The bastard smooched Harry right in the kisser. 

_His_ Harry. 

Some other guy  _kissed_ HIS Harry.

Paul grabbed his man-purse and happily strutted out of the room, the oak-door clicking shut behind him. 

There was an awkward pause as Harry noticed his boyfriend's heavy-breathing, his perfectly plucked eyebrows raised in alarm. It took a while, but finally the vigilante was coherent and managed to form a sentence.

“H-H-He just...! KISSED you!” 

“Yeah, so? What’s up with you, Pete, you’ve been standing there for," Harry checked his expensive Rolex watch. "Five minutes now.” 

“Who the hell was that guy? He just _KISSED YOU_!” 

“Just somebody who does my hair. He’s also my stylist, for more important events and galas I’m — _unfortunately_ — forced to attend.” Harry grumbled, completely missing the point, locking his phone and sliding it into the pocket of his Saint Laurent leather jacket. “Ready to go?” 

“He just _KISSED YOU_!” Peter wheezed, for the third time, his voice breaking and rising several octaves like it had at the riverbank when they first reunited. Harry swallowed a giggle and forced himself to act concerned.

“… Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Harry raised an eyebrow sarcastically as he stepped forwards to place his (soft) palms on Peter’s cheeks. “You don’t _feel_ warm—”

Harry _mmph’_ ed as he was pulled against a broad and toned chest, his petal-pink soft lips caught against Peter Parker’s chapped ones. He made a mental note to get Peter some medex. 

They pulled apart — after like, thirty seconds of intense making out — with a _smack!_ sound, Harry panting, his pale cheeks flushed as he glared at Peter, who looked even more red in the face than he, like he was gonna burst a blood vessel or pass out any minute. 

“What was _that_ for? Not that I didn’t like it, but still.” 

“ _That_ , was to get that funky-haired _asshole_ ’s kiss _off_ you.” Peter declared possessively, hugging Harry’s slim frame in his arms. He could never get over how fucking _cute_ Harry felt (was that a weird way to describe it?) when he held him. It was like hugging a warm lego (because Harry was so slim, all bones and perfect, kissable porcelain skin) on a cold December morning. 

Peter wondered what his boyfriend would do if he knew he compared him to legos.

“He’s _European_ , Peter. It’s part of their culture.” Harry chided, a small hint of a smile on his lips as he squeezed back, his way of reassuring his boyfriend. “It meant _nothing_.”

“… Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” Peter begrudgingly admitted, though all he wanted to do now was throw an Osborn temper-tantrum (what he dubbed one of Harry’s fits, like the time they were at a restaurant and the waiter got their orders mixed up… he made the poor waiter cry) and demand for Paul to get fired and never go near Harry again. 

“I know. Now, come _on_ , it’s time we hit the road.” Harry whined as he gripped Peter by the shoulders from behind and nudged him towards the door. 

Peter didn’t notice Harry’s mischievous smirk and the text he sent to Paul:

**Bae totally fell for it.  
** **Damn that was _fun_.  
** **You're getting a raise.**

And they happily headed to Atlantic City where Harry got completely wasted and nearly started a fight with a girl who apparently had her eyes on _his_ man. 

Peter spent the next morning naked, and next to Harry who was also naked and grumbling about his hangover and sore ass, wondering what was it about this insufferable idiot that he loved so much. 

Probably everything. 

_Except_ Paul, he grumbled in his mind, wondering if webbing the blond man's mouth would be a federal crime.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS SO LAME BUT I HAD FUN WRITING IT! Hope it made you laugh... just a bit?  
> Hahaha *rolls away into the sunset* :D


End file.
